Conducting Business
by mortenavida
Summary: You didn't expect to need the Knight Bus. It was just a good thing the conductor took all forms of payments. Nominated for HPfanficfanpoll awards fall 2012.


Written for hprarefest on LJ (2012). Please note: This is explicit from start to finish.

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"It's not you, it's me."

Such utter tripe. Really, was that the best your (now ex) partner of five years could come up with in order to end a relationship? The cliché line that everybody was afraid of, but nobody really expected to actually be uttered? And it was spoken to you, outside of the best restaurant in Wizarding history. You dressed in your best robes, tailored to fit every inch of you and accentuate all your best features. It cost more than your bi-weekly paycheck, but that wasn't supposed to matter.

You were going to marry into Wizarding royalty where money would never be an issue. You were going to stop working just to spend time at home. With your partner's fortune, both of you could afford to stay at home and have sex in every room possible. Hell, even the small broom cupboard under the three stairways in the house you two would have owned.

None of that matters now because now you are walking along a Muggle street, getting strange looks from the people that pass. Your mind isn't focused on them, too busy trying to figure out what you did wrong and what the hell happened. You were sure that this one would last, you would be together forever. You never expected your heart to be broken like this.

You even made sure you wore easy-to-remove clothing because you expected this night to be the night you got engaged. You were expecting a night ending with fantastic sex. You don't want to admit that you're actually just a little horny because you had been thinking about it all day. You even masturbated right before arriving at the pre-destined place, not that it helped to take the edge off. Your partner always managed to get you randy with just a thought.

Briefly you debate hiring a whore for the night, but then settle on finding some kind of pornography. A few magazines still hid in the closet, dusty and unused since you had last need of them. Five. Bloody. Years. Ago.

Mind made up, and just as horny, you find a relatively deserted street to take out your wand. Apparition makes you ill and you hadn't intended to need a Portkey. Stupidly, you had walked too far from any place where Floo would be possible. The Knight Bus isn't your favorite mode of transportation, but you need to get home. Alcohol and dirty magazine await you.

The bus arrives just as quickly as you anticipated. The doors slide open and the conductor steps down, rattling off his usual spiel – you aren't paying him any attention. Instead, you are searching your non-existent pockets for the money you swore you brought. You always had an emergency fund, just for situations like this.

And then you remember what this night was supposed to be like. You remember the person you left back at the restaurant, your table not even used. You're still hungry, damn it all.

You're embarrassed to admit to this man that you do not have the funds and called him for no reason.

Before you can say anything, he shrugs, his hair brushing his shoulders, and tells you that he's got all night because the bus is empty and you were the only one who called. You're frustrated, but as you look up, you notice that he's been staring at you. Not at you, but your body. There is a noticeable bulge in his tight trousers.

You get an idea. Strangely, he accepts.

As he leads you to the second level of the bus, you wonder now if this was a good idea. Instead of hiring out a whore, you become one. All for a bus fare. You're still horny, though, and you know a person will be much better than your hand. Even if it's just another person's hand you're working with. Besides, he wants it, you can tell by the way he's looking at you.

He says his name is Stan Shunpike and you recognize that name. He was a Death Eater during the war, an unwilling one from his testimony. You don't know why you remember him more than the other handful that also claimed this. He had more pimples during those years and small facial scars were the only thing remaining on his face. You wonder why he hasn't taken care of that. You doubt either of these things matter, the war status or the pimples.

No, it doesn't matter. Not when he's pushed you against the railing of the spiral staircase. His half-shaved mustache rubs against your neck as he kisses the skin there. Somehow, that turns you on more than the clean skin your ex-partner always had. You like it, glad that you did this. Sex is sex, who cares if it's on a bus.

The bus lurches and you realize how difficult this might be. Stan doesn't seem to be bothered by it. He simply grips your waist, keeping you standing as the bus lurches again. Before you know it, he has your robe off, exposing the general lack of clothing underneath. Just underwear was something your ex-partner liked. Stan likes it, too.

The bus tosses you both onto a bed and his erection digs into your hip. He moans and you can't wait. It feels big, even though his pants, and all you want is to have it in your mouth. Or pushing into you. Either one would work, you just want it.

You press a hand into the bulge and he lets out a hiss before smacking your hand away. You want to help, but he makes quick work of his fly. He's thicker than you expected, and a bit longer as well. The underwear you're still wearing is wet and he takes it off, sliding it down your legs. You want him to kiss your nipples, but he seemed focused on moving his fingers between your legs.

Well, that's okay as well. He uses something that smells fruity in order to prepare you, his fingers digging in until it's almost uncomfortable. You want more, but you're not sure he knows exactly what he's doing. Still, he manages to rub against the spot your ex-partner never could manage to find. You arch against the bed, letting out a loud moan and not caring if the blind driver can hear you. Stan grins and you doubt he cares as well. This might even be the highlight of his shift.

Your mind drifts, wondering how someone so damned young got stuck conducting business on a bus.

You wonder how often he conducts this type of business.

He pushes your legs up and you forget to even care about that fact.

The girth of his dick stretches you further than you expected and it's painful at first. He pushes until he's balls deep. You hope he'll give you time to adjust and he does, just not the exact way you want. He rotates his hips, making you gasp as pleasure mixes with the tinge of pain that shoots down your body. You dig your finger nails into his hip and he takes that as a sign, pulling out before pushing back in.

You didn't expect it to feel this good, but you blame that on the fact that you'd wanted to be fucked since you woke up this morning. He's rough, but the hand stroking you makes sure that you're too distracted to care. You can feel yourself getting there, and you can't believe that it's with a stranger on a bus.

The bus jerked and his angle changed. Your hands fly up to grip the bed rails behind you. Every thrust makes you cry out and soon you can't hold on. You release hard, shaking almost uncontrollably as his hand milks every drop from your body. You barely notice when he grunts and shoved himself into you one last time. His semen coats your insides and you know that when he pulls out, it will run down your leg.

Strangely, you want it to. You don't want him to pull away, but you want to feel the evidence of this slip down your thighs. You wonder if he'll think you odd if you admit that, but he's nipping at your neck again and you don't dare say anything. His hips shift, small thrusts that don't mean anything besides the fact that maybe he doesn't want to let go either. It's slicker now that you've both released and somehow it feels better.

You want this again.

Your friends will think you were crazy if you admitted this.

Stan eventually leans up to kiss you, his lips soft against your own. There's some tongue involved, but your mind isn't completely clear on what was happening anymore. Was this really just a bus fare?

He stops kissing you and pulls out at the same time. You both groan at the loss. You can feel his essence slipping out and you want to get on your knees so you could really feel it, but your muscles seem to not want to work.

He jokes that you're making a mess of the bed and you just grin, unable to deny that. He reaches down and slides his fingers through the mess between your legs and you laugh. He takes his wand to clean himself up and, when you ask that he leave you as you are, he complies with a shrug. There's still want in his eyes and you briefly debate the possibility of a relationship with him.

You figure it doesn't hurt to ask and offer to do this again, perhaps on a bed that isn't moving across the room.

He looks at you, as if he's stunned that you would offer, and he doesn't say a word. You're unsure on how to take this, but his silence is making you uncomfortable. As quickly as you can, you get off the bed and find your clothes. The evidence of sex running down your leg sends a shiver down your spine and you tug your underwear up as fast as you can.

This was, obviously a mistake.

He takes your arm and you stop in the process of getting decent. You think of how to tell him that you were kidding, that what you said didn't matter. It was just post-sex words that tended to escape your mind when you weren't thinking. You open your mouth to tell him something, anything, but you can't seem to get the words out.

The fact that his lips have captured yours might be the problem, but you don't want to think about that at the moment. You just want to think about what this means and if you were smart to do this. Stan didn't deserve to be a rebound.

But fuck your ex, and fuck Stan if he doesn't work out. Because maybe you'll just start as friends. Maybe you'll just start as friends with benefits. Or maybe, after you walk off this bus, you'll never see him again.

He kisses you until your stop and you refuse to let yourself think about this the rest of the rather short trip. Tomorrow is a new day, and you would be a new person.

Maybe, in a few days, you'll get back on the Knight Bus when there are no other customers. You and Stan will go back up the stairs and he'll bend over your back, pushing you into the window as he fucks you against the wall.

And maybe you'll enjoy it too much and to return again to try it on the stairs.

Or the bed right behind that damned blind driver, trying to be silent as he drones on about politics.

And maybe, just maybe, after that you'll finally make it to your bed with him, your ex completely forgotten as you plan your new future with the young and very talented bus conductor.


End file.
